


one day, the next day (and the day after that)

by tinymark (lumoon33)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT) is Whipped, Pining, Sleepy Cuddles, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, basically a haechan bday fic a month too late, idolverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumoon33/pseuds/tinymark
Summary: familiarity: relaxed friendliness or intimacy between people.or: it's haechan's birthday and mark is whipped.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 35
Kudos: 726





	one day, the next day (and the day after that)

**Author's Note:**

> hello again im back w more mahae bc im weak.  
> so, basically there's this video of mark talking about haechan's bday and how he showed up in haechan's bedroom at 00:00 with a cake and candles and ?????????? he literally forced me to write this so if u have any complaints send them mark lee's way.
> 
> eeeeee i finished writing this at 2 am so im too lazy to reread it properly rn, i'll edit it tomorrow (or never) But im sorry for any mistakes u can find. also english isn't my first language.
> 
> well that's all i hope u enjoy this toothrotting fluff xx

Usually, Mark gets annoyed when other members don’t let him move around the kitchen on his own. He knows he isn’t the best chef in the group, not even close, but he’s always thought he’s responsible enough to get near food without causing a mess. But he’s painfully aware that the chocolate cake staring back at him right now would agree with all his members.

They’ve been out all day, and he completely forgot you’re supposed to keep a cake in the refrigerator if you want it to stay in good condition. It is all melted down now, leaning towards the right as if it’s about to crumble under its own weight. The message that had been written in soft, mushy cream has blended in with the chocolate and the candles he carefully stuck at the top are unstable, wiggling dangerously. They were supposed to look cute, sunflower shaped, but Mark has managed to break some of the wax petals somehow.

Mark picks up his phone from his bed and lights up the screen to check the hour. His hands start sweating when he sees there’s only five minutes left for 00:00. There is no way he can fix this mess now, so he lights up the candles with shaky fingers, almost getting his hand burnt in the process more than once, and picks up the disastrous cake. He leaves his bedroom and gets into the elevator without telling anyone else from his floor, because he knows he wouldn’t hear the end of it if the others got to see the mess he’s about to hand Haechan as a sorry excuse of a decent birthday present.

He’s kinda nervous on his way down, which is ridiculous. This is Haechan, his best friend since he was thirteen, the same guy who’s been there to witness every single one of Mark’s most embarrassing moments. Haechan, who told him he values kind gestures and moments over expensive presents. He knows Haechan will tease him for this, he knows Haechan would find a way to tease him even if his cake looked like a perfect wedding cake.

So, when Doyoung opens the 5th floor door and stares at his cake with his eyebrows furrowed and a scrunched up nose, Mark shoulders his way in past him with his chin up.

“Not a word,” he says without looking back. “At least I got a cake!”

He hears Doyoung snickering behind him, hears the muffled noise of his socked feet as he follows Mark to Haechan and Johnny’s bedroom. But he doesn’t say anything, so that’s good enough.

Mark stands in front of the closed bedroom door. He’s glad Doyoung decided to join him, even if he won’t stop gesturing to Taeyong to come closer to get a laugh at Mark’s cake too, because at least Doyoung has the decency to check the hour for him and show him when the clock hits midnight.

He knocks on the door with his feet, his cheeks already getting warmer in anticipation. He desperately wishes his hands were free so he could hide behind his fingers, because if there’s someone who can read his face as an open book written in bold letters, that’s Haechan.

Johnny is the one who opens the door, already in his sleeping clothes, face a little red and with his hair all mushed up, as if he was already about to fall asleep. But the loud noise of a computer game that slips from inside the room tells otherwise.

At first, he looks at Mark with his eyebrows raised in confusion, then at Doyoung next to him, and then his eyes fall to the cake. Mark stares at him expectantly as Johnny presses his lips tight together to suppress his laughter.

“Shut up and let me in,” Mark says, and hates the way it comes out high pitched in embarrassment.

“Mark hyung?” Haechan asks from inside the room, the noise of whatever game he’s playing shutting down abruptly.

Johnny turns around and steps away from the door, but he starts clapping even before Mark has the chance to step inside, breaking into  _ happy birthday to you _ way too loud for midnight.

Suddenly, every single 5th floor resident is bundled up inside of Johnny’s and Haechan’s room, screaming a birthday song at the top of their lungs as Haechan stands in front of his desk, his eyes open in pleasant surprise and his cheeks slightly red under the attention.

When they stop singing, Taeyong urges him closer with his hands.

“C’mon, blow out the candles before this thing comes crashing down.”

“Hey,” Mark huffs indignantly, he’d punch him if his hands were free. “You guys are joining  _ my _ surprise cake and you dare to insult it? Get the fuck out!”

No one moves, though, all they do is laugh out loud at the empty thread. Mark scowls down at the cake, hoping the dimmed light of the room makes it hard to see how flustered he actually it. As if Haechan has ever needed light to figure out what goes on inside of Mark’s mind.

“Oh, look at that,” he says as he steps right in front of Mark, leaning closer to peek at the design of the cake. “I can tell you made this one. What the fuck does it say there?”

“Shut up! I bought it, okay?” Mark complains, looking up at Haechan without raising his chin, as if that makes it any better. Haechan throws him a lopsided smirk, but Mark  _ knows _ he’s being a little shit because he’s just as embarrassed, and the only way he can handle emotional situations is joking his way through them. “Blow out the damn candles unless you want all this chocolate all over your face.”

“Don’t forget to make a wish!” Taeyong reminds him, clapping excitedly.

Haechan reaches out, then. He wraps his fingers around one of Mark’s hands gently to help him keep the cake steady. His palm is incredibly warm over Mark’s skin, he feels the hotness of it all drip all over his body as Haechan stares at him, head tilted to the side, the tip of his tongue trapped between his white teeth as he tries to come up with a wish. When he looks away, Mark feels like Haechan has stolen all the air in his lungs to blow out the candles.

He hopes the wish is worth it.

\---

Mark goes back to his room late that night, with dried chocolate smudged around his chapped lips and stuck under his nails. His head is feeling heavy with sleep and sugar and the honey-like smell of Haechan’s body wash as he hugs him goodbye right outside of his bedroom.

“What’d you wish for?” He whispers, quietly to not wake Johnny up, who’s passed out inside of the room.

“You know the rules,” Haechan says, throwing Mark a look that’s supposed to be annoyed, but he’s way too sleepy to fake anything, so Mark can read fondness all over it. “If I tell you, it’ll get ruined.”

Mark hums in agreement, but he still asks “you think it’s gonna come true?”

Haechan stares at him with his eyebrows raised in a reprimand, because Mark knows full well he isn’t going to get any answers out of him, so there’s no point for him to keep trying. He’s stalling, trying to steal minutes of the night, trying to stretch out the seconds between them. It’s like there’s never enough of them, Mark feels like a sand clock, seconds slipping through his fingers steadily and inevitably, and he can’t do anything to catch them, no matter how hard he clenches his fists.

“It’s late,” Haechan mumbles. He has his arms crossed over his chest, but he disentangles them to place his hands over Mark’s arms, over his rumpled sweatshirt.

Mark feels breathless again, all he can do is stare as Haechan runs his fingers down, down, down. He tangles them in the cuffs of his sleeves for a second, then he slides his hands over Mark’s, easing his fingers open slowly, forcing him to relax his clenched hands.

Then, he leans closer, lips velvety soft against Mark’s burning cheek.

“Go to sleep,” he mumbles, still too close, making Mark’s head feel all cloudy and heavy, sugar high.

Haechan lets go of his hands with a chirpy laughter, brings one of them up to Mark’s left cheek and rubs harshly. Mark frowns and pushes him away, even though his body is screaming at him to reach out and pull him close again. Closer.

“You’re looking all gross,” Haechan scrunches up his nose, taking a step back towards his bedroom. “Just like your cake.”

“I’m not doing anything nice for you ever again,” Mark shoots back, taking a step back towards the front door.

“As if you can stop yourself,” Haechan is sleepy, but still, his voice comes out mocking and teasing and almost vain. But all Mark can hear is  _ thank you _ .

So he says, “you’re welcome,” direct and earnest.

He doesn’t stay around to see the way Haechan’s cheeks flood with pastel pink. He’s seen it countless times before.

\---

During his birthday, Mark doesn’t see Haechan until after lunch.

It’s a shooting day, he’s already dressed up with his baseball clothes, way too tight and too rough on his skin in the damp heat of the room, when Haechan gets there. He’s gotten changed already too, he runs into the room all bouncy and electric and spilling energy with every step. Mark can’t help the smile that settles in his lips when he sees him like this, so bright he has to look at him through his eyelashes.

“How are the guys doing?” Mark asks when Haechan stands next to him.

He doesn’t reply, at first. He looks at Mark, running his eyes all over his body. Mark is awfully aware of how disgusting he must look, with his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead under his cap, his clothes already ruffled and damp, sandpaper rough over his skin.

“How long have you been practicing for already?” Haechan asks, squinting his eyes a little in annoyance. Mark hates the way he can see him deflate, crumpling into himself a little, dimmed under the weight of missed hours of practice, of wasted chances to improve. Mark knows the feeling way too well.

“Less than an hour, I think,” he replies, even though it’s been longer. And he knows Haechan can tell he’s lying, sees it in his face when he sticks his tongue into his cheek. “Stop. Don’t do that,” Mark takes a step closer, brings his hand up to Haechan’s face so he can squish his cheeks between his fingers. “You look like a fish,” he giggles.

Haechan swats his hand away to brush him off. He takes a step away from Mark, it stings a little bit, but at least he’s smiling.

“It’s your day,” Haechan shrugs at this and sways his hand in the air between them, asking him to drop it without words. Mark wants to reach out, curl his fingers around Haechan’s and soothe him through touch. He gets his hand in the pockets of his too tight baseball jeans instead, and says: “You shouldn’t have to work at all. So stop frowning.”

Haechan frowns as he looks at Mark, as if he’s trying whether or not he should remind Mark the countless birthdays he spent trapped in practice rooms. He decides to drop it, it seems, because he says instead:

“Renjun told me you paid for the food,” he’s grinning at Mark now, but there’s still something sharp underneath. Mark wishes he knew how to smooth it. “But you didn’t have the decency to show up, huh?”

“Oh, you’re so annoying,” Mark pushes his shoulder playfully. Haechan full on laughs at him as he scrambles to hold Mark’s hand when he’s pulling away. “You know I was busy!”

Mark tries to fight him off for a while, but he ends up giving up. He offers his palm to Haechan, open handed and feeling kinda bare inside when he threads their fingers together, squeezing hard enough to hurt. Mark knows he’s supposed to react, to yelp and push him away and  _ joke _ about it. But he’s stuck again, breaths getting caught inside of his chest, tripping over his heartbeat.

“You always making a big deal out of everything,” Haechan says, and his tone is still teasing and easy, but the grip in Mark’s hand softens, and the thumb brushing over his knuckles feels like everything but a joke. “That was such an expensive place. You didn’t have to flex on us like that even on my birthday.”

Haechan lets go of him then, and Mark feels like a weight lifting off his shoulders. Haechan is looking at him with a mean smirk and his eyebrows raised on his forehead. And this, this Mark can do. This is familiar and fun and it doesn’t making him feel like he’s missing something important.

“I swear I’m gonna stop doing nice shit for you.”

“Last time you said that you lasted  _ hours _ , Mark. You can’t resist me.”

And it’s supposed to be a joke, but lately, nothing feels like one. And Mark is left grasping at hidden meanings he isn’t even sure are there.

\---

Haechan is looking down at his gift as if he hates it. He’s got his eyebrows lowered over his eyes, his lips pursed into an annoyed pout, his fingers tapping the cupboard box repeatedly, as if he’s trying to decide if he should throw it away or keep it.

They are sitting on Haechan’s bed. Haechan is dressed up to go out for a few drinks with some of the other members, he isn’t wearing anything too fancy and he’s got his legs crossed over the covers, as if he doesn’t care if his pants get all wrinkled up. Still, Mark feels incredibly underdressed sitting next to him, in his old gray sweats and a ratty red t-shirt.

“You don’t like it?” Mark asks, a little panicky.

He’s known Haechan for so long, he’s never gotten a single gift wrong in all the years they’ve spent together. This year, the new phone he chose feels a little bit predictable, maybe a bit more meaningless than all the previous years, materialistic and empty. But when he bought it, he was sure Haechan would appreciate it, he’d been whining about how much he wanted one for so long.

Haechan sighs, exasperated. He takes the new iPhone out of the box carefully and turns it on.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he says, staring down at the light up screen.

“It’s your birthday, Donghyuck,” Mark complains, the name sounding heavy on his lips for how little he uses it lately, reserved for deeper conversations and tender feelings. The sound of it makes Haechan look up at him. “I couldn’t not get you something?”

Mark doesn’t know why it comes out as a question, insecure and unsteady. He’s feeling like he’s walking on eggshells around Haechan lately, as if he has to be careful where he puts his foot on his next step to not step on a milestone that turns it all way more intense that it’s supposed to be. It used to be easy between them, now he feels like drowning and there’s never enough time to figure out why.

“Taeil didn’t get me anything,” Haechan shrugs. Mark rolls his eyes, because Haechan  _ knows _ that’s not a fair comparison. None of the other members would be a fair comparison. “You already got me the cake and paid for lunch! That’s enough! I told you I didn’t want anything.”

“If I tell you right now that I don’t want anything for my birthday, will you listen to me?”

“Of course not,” he answers fast, blatantly as if it’s something obvious. And it is, so it makes Mark crack up.

“Then why are you complaining? Just say thank you!”

But, of course, Haechan doesn’t say anything.

He keeps fiddling with the phone, his fingers sliding over the screen as he keeps tapping all the configuration options for later. He’s still frowning a little, Mark wants to smooth the wrinkle between his eyebrows with the pads of his fingers.

“Mark,” he says, then, looking up abruptly. “Hurry up, look over my shoulder.”

“What?” Mark tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Just do it, hurry!”

So Mark does as he’s told. Slightly confused, he scoots closer and leans forward, staring at the other side of the room over Haechan’s shoulder.

Then, Haechan is leaning even closer. So close Mark can smell that honey-like smell that’s so inherently Haechan it clouds his mind every time Mark thinks about him. So close, he can feel Haechan’s breath over his cheek, hitting his skin hot and erratic. So close, Mark feels warm lips pressing against his skin, right over the corner of his mouth, a little hesitant but steady.

He’s breathless again, Haechan’s warmth seeping through him, burning everything inside of his chest, until Mark’s mouth falls open in a silent gasp, his hand coming up to grab at Haechan’s dress shirt, his fingertips grasping at his shoulder.

Haechan doesn’t move, though. He stays there for a few seconds, pressing his smooth mouth to the seam of Mark’s lips, so soft and tender. As if it’s a new way to show his thankfulness, as if their playful banter isn’t enough anymore for him either, as if he’s grasping at new meanings, too, trying to thread something new but familiar they can share. The way they’ve always shared everything else.

It’s over soon, though. Haechan doesn’t take to further, and Mark isn’t sure if he’s glad or disappointed. All he knows is that he feels incredibly dizzy, with his heart drumming heavily in the hollow of his throat.

“Look,” Haechan says, sounding all happy and pleased with himself. He’s smiling brightly, the way he always does. The only sign that something has changed is the prominent blush in his cheeks, the different twinkle in his eyes. Mark doesn’t think anyone else would be able to notice. “Cute, right?”

Haechan is practically pushing his new phone into Mark’s face, showing him the light up screen excitedly. Mark stares at it dumbly, his mouth falling half open as he looks at the picture, taking in an angle that makes it look as if they are actually kissing. And Mark realizes, with such a sharp intensity that it almost hurts physically, that he wishes it wasn’t just the angle.

He doesn’t know what to say, he splutters incoherent words as he rubs at his neck, knowing it’s probably red with embarrassment.

Haechan keeps smiling, but tinier now, as if more reserved, something quiet between the two of them. It feels so intimate, to look at him with such a soft expression in his face, Mark has to look down at the phone instead, incredibly flustered.

“What are you doing?” He half whispers, half screams. “Someone might see!”

But Haechan keeps staring at his new homescreen fondly, his eyes all warm around the corners, as if the moment captured right there is the best birthday gift he’s ever received. And how is Mark supposed to tell him to hide something like that?

“I’ll keep the light so low no one but me will be able to see,” Haechan tells him in a reassuring voice.

Then, he’s standing up, pocketing his new phone in his wrinkled jeans, even though there’s not much he can do with it yet, when he’s skipped all the important configuration steps.

He walks towards the door and stops right when he’s about to go out, gripping the frame while he looks back at Mark.

“Wait up for me?” He asks. Mark has never heard him sound so insecure.

Mark should remind him that he has to wake up incredibly early the next day. He should tell him that they don’t share a room anymore, they don’t even live on the same floor, for fuck’s sake.

But all he can do is nod, because there’s no way he will deny him anything. Not today, of all days.

\---

Haechan comes back wasted. Or, at least, that’s the first impression Mark gets when he opens the door of his bedroom at two in the morning and finds him there, with his face swollen and red as he clings to an annoyed looking Doyoung.

“He’s only tipsy,” Doyoung says, shaking Haechan off of him and pushing him towards Mark. “Had three drinks tops. But you know how he gets. He kept whining about you, so.”

He doesn’t finish the thought, he just gestures to the two of them with his hands as an explanation.

Haechan clings onto Mark as soon as he reaches him, curls his arms around his torso like an octopus, nuzzles his nose against Mark’s neck, his breath tickling his collarbone. Mark has to grit his teeth together to stop himself from shivering.

“Can I sleep here?” Haechan mumbles over Mark’s skin, his lips brushing along the line of Mark’s throat as he speaks.

“Mm,” Mark clears his throat, flustered at the scene they are making right in front of Doyoung, who is looking at them with an eyebrow raised knowingly. “Yeah, sure,” Mark chokes out, curling his arm around Haechan’s shoulders and gripping tightly, trying to get him away to have room to  _ think _ . He’s so incredibly relieved the manager he shares the room with isn’t spending the night at the dorms today.

“Well, I leave him to you then,” Doyoung smirks at them and Mark huffs, as if trying to make the whole thing less important than it actually is. But he knows the hotness of his cheeks betrays him. “You should try to get him into the shower first. Good night!”

Doyoung turns around to leave, closing the door on his way.

It’s then when it hits Mark, the heaviness of the situation, the air damp and sweet with something he doesn’t know how to name, but that makes his heart swell up in his chest.

Haechan’s grip on him tightens, he hums as he pushes his head further into the crook of his neck, yawns against Mark’s skin, making him tingle all over.

“Hey,” Mark whispers in the quiet of the room. He gets his hand tangled into Haechan’s purple hair, tugs at it softly to get him to look at him. And Haechan moves so easily for him, looking up with his eyes half closed with sleep and alcohol, his cheeks light up red and so full, Mark can’t help but place his hands over them, gently.

He’s so hot, almost feverish to the touch, warming up Mark’s palms so nicely. He rests his fingers there for a while, just staring at Haechan as he blinks slowly up at Mark, his plump lips stretching into a smile. Mark wants to kiss him all over.

“We gotta get you into the shower,” Mark says instead, stroking his fingers over Haechan’s face before he slides them up his hair, swiping the strands away from his face.

“Mhm,” Haechan mumbles in return, his eyes sliding closed at the contact. “Always takin’ care of me, aren’t ya?”

He looks so vulnerable like this, so comfortable and pliant under Mark’s thumbs, trusting him blindly. Haechan blinks his eyes open again, and whatever sees in Mark’s face makes him smile so tenderly, Mark has to bite down into his lip to stop himself from kissing the corners of his grin.

He clears his throat, trying to shake all this weirdness off of himself as he pushes Haechan away from him and towards the bathroom. Haechan doesn’t resist at all, as if he’s willing to let Mark take him wherever he wants to.

It’s such a scary thing, when something so familiar shifts and changes right between your fingers, and you’re left staring at it, helpless and confused and with no other option but to accept it. But then Mark is turning on the bathroom light, and Haechan is looking back at him all soft around the edges, and he  _ knows _ he isn’t the only one at a loss. Haechan has always been the one to make him feel grounded, after all.

Mark goes to the bathtub to get the water running, so it can be nice and warm once Haechan gets underneath the spray. But when he looks back, Haechan is stalling, swaying a little on his feet as he plays with the last button of his dress shirt. Mark is pretty sure the redness in his face is more of shyness than alcohol.

“Hyuck,” Mark says, voice serious. Haechan swallows hard, and Mark lifts an eyebrow at him. “I’ve seen you naked a million times, don’t be ridiculous.”

Haechan purses his lips, gets that last button undone and mumbles, “‘s different now.”

Mark is the one who has to swallow the lump in his throat at that. One thing is to unconsciously know that something has shifted. Having Haechan saying it out loud like this is different, makes it real with such a force, Mark feels himself shrinking under it.

“Are you sober enough to get in by yourself?” Mark asks, words strangled with nerves. It’s so different in a familiar way, to get this shy around Haechan of all people.

Haechan nods softly, his cheeks going even redder. And Mark knows it’s the alcohol, he knows a fully sober Haechan would be way more straightforward than this, but the thought of making Haechan this flustered makes him feel somewhat powerful.

He gets up from where he was kneeling over the bathtub and walks towards the door. He stops to tap his fingers over Haechan’s waist softly.

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything, okay?”

“’m not a fuckin’ child, Mark,” he replies, a bit of his usual bite under his tone, but his cheeks stay flaming red.

Mark is grinning on his way out.

\---

Haechan joins him in bed half an hour later. He’s changed into the clothes Mark left in the toilet lid when Haechan was in the shower, some old pajama pants Mark’s found in the back of his wardrobe and a t-shirt Haechan has stolen a million times.

He completely ignores the manager’s empty bed, recently made and clean and inviting for Haechan to settle in and get the good rest he clearly needs. Instead, he crawls into Mark’s bed, all warm and delicate and smelling like Mark’s shower products and Mark’s used clothes. His hair is still wet, it sticks cold and uncomfortable to Mark’s neck and shoulder when Haechan settles next to him. But he throws an arm and a leg over Mark’s body, engulfing him in this bubble of familiarity, Mark wouldn’t push him away even if he could.

“You wanna know what I wished for?” He asks after a few minutes of silence, his words hitting right Mark’s collarbones as he slides his fingers lightly over Mark’s bare abdomen.

Mark is sleeping shirtless, because it’s almost summer and it’s already too hot and he always sleeps shirtless lately. And he refused to change that only because Haechan was sleeping over. Because that meant to purposefully acknowledge the fact that there’s something different now. But it’s impossible to deny it at this point, with the way his stomach flips when Haechan runs the pads of his fingers up his sternum and all the way down to his belly button, feather light.

“Are you still drunk or what?” Mark mumbles against Haechan’s damp hair, because that’s how close together they are. “Thought you said it’d ruin it.”

Haechan giggles, and Mark feels it all over, like an earthquake, moving everything inside of him.

“A little,” he whispers, hot puffs of air coming out of his mouth and waking goosebumps over Mark’s skin. “But it can’t get ruined. Wanna know why?”

Mark hums in agreement as he brings his own arm over the one Haechan has across his chest. He runs his nails slowly up the skin, until his hand gets lost inside the short sleeve of his own t-shirt, too big on Haechan. He can physically feel the way Haechan’s breath gets caught up in his throat, and it’s the most thrilling thing he’s felt since the first time he got up onstage. So he does it again, because he can.

Haechan’s voice comes out breathless when he says, “Didn’t wish for anythin’. You were already there, so.”

Mark can’t help the astounded little laughter that he chokes out, his fingers stilling over Haechan’s skin as he looks down at him.

“That’s so-”

“Gross, I know,” Haechan completes, looking up at him with his nose all crinkled up. “‘S your fault. Make me all disgusting ‘n sappy. Ew.”

Mark laughs in his face, he can’t help it. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s always found Haechan genuinely hilarious, or because the implications of his confession are hanging heavy above him, turning him into a nervous wreck.

He doesn’t really know where to store all these feelings, he’s running out of space inside his chest, spilling all over.

“Only telling you ‘cause I’m still kinda tipsy,” Haechan keeps mumbling, still looking up at Mark with his nose crunched up, even though his eyes are almost closed shut with sleep. “You better forget about it tomorrow.”

And Mark can’t forget. He doesn’t want to. All he wants to do is kiss him until he runs out of breath.

So he leans down and presses a small kiss to the tip of Haechan’s nose, and laughs softly when Haechan exaggerates his disgusted face even more before he hides again in the crook of Mark’s neck, falling asleep there.

\---

Mark wakes up again in the middle of the night. He blinks into the darkness of the room, fighting to get his eyes adjusted to the little street lamps light that sneaks through the window.

Haechan is hovering over him, propped up on his elbow as he shakes Mark awake gently.

“You up?” He asks softly.

Mark grunts at him, cranes his neck to look at the digital clock on his bedside table between his half closed eyes.

“The fuck do you want at four in the morning, dude,” he complains, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking,” Haechan says, and he doesn’t sound a little bit apologetic. There’s no trace of sleepiness and alcohol in his voice, and the fingers running up and down Mark’s chest feel confident and steady.

“About?” Mark slides his arm off his eyes and onto the pillow.

He stares up at Haechan as he thinks of an answer. The light coming in through the window paints his features orange, accentuates the bridge of his nose, his cupid bow, the curve of his cheeks. His skin looks so soft and inviting, Mark can’t help but reach out and run his index and middle finger down the side of his face. Haechan curls his own hand around Mark’s wrist, as if he’s trying to keep him there.

“I know you’ve given me like, five gifts already,” Haechan mumbles, tilts his head a little to fit his cheek right into the palm of Mark’s hand. “Can I ask for one more thing?”

Mark feels defensive all of a sudden, a sharp need to argue and remind him that he gifted him only three things, actually. Instead, he swallows the words down and runs his thumb under Haechan’s eye, over the gray smudge there.

“You’re so greedy,” he complains, but he can hear the smile in his own voice. “It isn’t your birthday anymore, though.”

Haechan clicks his tongue in annoyance, his fingers tightening around Mark’s wrist.

“Can you stop being lame for a second?” He complains, leaning a little bit closer, his purple bangs almost brushing over Mark’s forehead.

“Can you stop being a little shit for a second?” Mark throws back, his hand sliding from Haechan’s cheek to his hair, settling in the back of his neck to keep him close.

“Just,” Haechan swallows hard, and he’s so close, Mark hears it more than he sees it. “Just kiss me.”

Suddenly, Mark feels more than wide awake. It’s as if everything is getting twice as intense around him: the weight of Haechan’s thigh between his legs, their naked skin brushing together under the blankets; the soft feeling of Haechan’s hair between his fingers, still a little damp from his shower, his neck burning hot against the rough palm of Mark’s hand; Haechan’s hand slipping from his wrist and falling flat against his chest, pressing down over his heart, nails sinking into the flesh of his chest; Haechan’s breath hitting his cheeks, hot and uneven as he waits patiently, his nose brushing gently against Mark’s, as if waiting for permission.

Mark doesn’t understand how he’s been able to hold himself back all day. And here, in the dark, in the middle of the night, just the two of them, he doesn’t understand  _ why _ he’s been holding himself back for weeks, even months probably.

So he tilts his chin up a little as he digs his fingers into the sides of Haechan’s neck to push him down and against him. He takes a sharp breath through his nose as their lips finally touch, slotting together perfectly on the first try, as if they’ve been made for this.

He kisses Haechan softly, with all the tenderness and warmth he’s been trying to keep locked away all day. He cups his round, burning cheeks with both hands and strokes the soft skin gently. He tries to convey everything that’s been bubbling up inside of him with the slow caress of his lips, coaxing Haechan’s mouth open through delicate brushes.

And it takes his breath away, just like everything else about Haechan. It’s not only how easy it is, how ready Haechan is to open up for him and meet his tongue halfway. It’s how right it feels, how  _ familiar _ it is, even though it’s the first time they are taking this step. But they are taking it together, and Mark guesses that’s more than enough.

It’s still scary as hell. There’s this running thought in the back of his mind, warning him that this will change everything for them, between them. But Haechan melts down the worry with the warmth of his mouth, with the sweetness of his lips, with the way he licks into Mark’s mouth and breathes him in as if he’s intoxicated and aching for more.

Mark breaks the kiss for a second, but his hands are still on Haechan’s face, and he doesn’t let him get too far away. They are still so close, the tip of their noses bumping together as they stare at each other through hooded eyes.

Haechan tilts his head, brushes his nose against Mark's purposefully, smiles when Mark’s cheeks get all warm.

“This is what you want?” Mark asks, low and serious in the heat between them, as much a question as it is a promise, a confession. He brushes their noses together again, strokes Haechan's cheeks gently to make it clear that he isn’t talking only about the kiss. “As a birthday gift only?”

Haechan’s eyes go incredibly soft, even though he’s smirking down at Mark when he says: “As an everyday gift?”

Mark has never been able to say no to him, and some things never change. 

**Author's Note:**

> WELL i wrote this in a day so im sorry if it was messy??? idk it wasnt supposed to end up being this serious but apparently i cant write about mark lee without making him go thru a lil existential crisis. i hope u enjoyed this!!! kudos and comments are very much appreciated they make me happy.
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/tiniemarks) // [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tiniesung)


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